The Algorithm of Failure
by francery
Summary: "I'm just doing what the fortune cookie said. Who am I to stand in the way of fate?"


If I had known that I'd be a part of Gilbert's jamboree, then I would have said 'no' as fast as a knife to the heart. With me doing it, it would have been as quick as a cheetah on caffeine.

Alas, I had said "yes", and Gilbert had grabbed me by the arm, dragged me to his "house", shed in the middle of the forest being more appropriate, and blasted music into my ear as soon as I had stepped foot in the door. Mourning the death of my ears, I had hoped that that would have been the only stress-inducing thing in that goddamn celebration, but no, that daft sod just had to be there, sucking up all the wine like nobodies business. My eyes narrowed, and I spat out his name, the taste in my mouth alike to the foulness of toothpaste and citrus.

_"Bonnefoy."_

Either by great coincidence, or exceptionally good timing, his head snapped up and blue looked directly into green. I stormed up to him, and grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket _(why was he even wearing a jacket in this weather, the stupid ponce)_, shook him back and forth with the force of a stampede.

"What in all of the bloody nine circles of Hell are you doing here?"

He gave me a confused look, face scrunched up as if he was trying to work out the meaning of life, and then a smile came to his face. It wasn't just any smile. No, it was the smile of someone who wanted to purposely make a certain Englishman angry to the point of being maimed.

"Listen here, you dandy twat, you better have a good reason of being here, or so help me-"

"I'm just doing what the fortune cookie said. Who am I to stand in the way of fate?"

"-feed you to the wolves, you- wait, what?"

"You heard me, or did the music burst your eardrums to the point of eternal damnation? If so, I'm sorry for your loss."

I let him go, and backed off with shock written all over my face. The French fucker had come here... just because a fortune cookie told him to?! A hysterical laugh escaped me, as I stared into the face of someone who was definitely not joking.

"Has the wine gotten to your head, old friend?"

Francis looked at me with amusement.

"'Old friend?' I have certainly never heard you call me that before. It has usually always been expletives repeated like an annoying tape-recorder that any sane person would smash in a heartbeat. What next? 'Love', 'darling', 'sexy boyfri-"

"Oh, why don't you just go and jump off a cliff, frog, and save me the trouble of gouging your eyes out, shoving them down your throat, and making you watch me rip your intestines out!"

A short laugh met my damaged ears, and I turned red with anger.

"Wow, very creative, where did you come up with that? High school?" My vision became red and all I saw was Francis mutilated by a group of assassins.

"You. Are. Dead. To. ME!" With that, I jumped across the table separating us, and smashed my fists against his chest, both of us rolling back and forth like a pair of morons.

Gilbert looked up from his game of Mario Kart with Antonio and shouted at us, "Hey, you noobs, stop fighting out your sexual tension and get your butts over here! Mario Kart, 2 v 2. Antonio thinks he can beat me, the idiot, and I want to prove him wrong!"

"Gil, I am kind of in a situation where I can't really play any games right now. I think I may die of asphyxiation and my finger is about to be bro- HOLY-"

"You deserve everything you're given, wanker!"

Gilbert looked crestfallen.

"Ah, I see. Well, when you're finished, you're on my team Francis, and Antonio can have Arthur!" Antonio looked at him with horror.

"Gil, I can't be with Arthur! He beats me in Battleship every single time and if he plays this, teamwork won't even be an option." After hearing this, I agreed, just to make the stupid Spaniard feel the fear. Ha! Antonio would rue the day he had ever teased him as a child!

"Fine, I'll be there in a sec."

Antonio's mouth fell open, and with a voice that reminded Gilbert of the shy, Canadian boy, said, "Do you realise what you've done?"

"Yeah! I've just made us a kickass tournament!"

"No! There is no kickass tournament! There is only tears and misery!"

"Suck it up, loser!"

Screams of a Frenchman and a Spaniard could be heard, echoing throughout the forest. Though they were for different reasons, they were both full of agony, so it still counts.


End file.
